Dios Está Contigo

September 03, 2024

Dios Está Contigo

A good friend from home that I hadn’t talked to in a while recently asked me how Bolivia was treating me. The best way I found to answer that question is the honest truth: the nature of the literal jungle and living here makes everything harder than it is in the US (everything you can image: from needing to be very resourceful when it comes to cooking to showers being also a battle with mosquitoes and moths), but the Lord is treating me well by placing me as a house Mom in the Lilas. I cannot imagine anywhere I’d rather be right now. Of course, let me address the elephant in the room for those of you who are paying attention: I have not written on my blog for over a month. Explanation? Well, I’m not even sure how to answer that question in one summarized statement other than I’ve been so busy. So much has happened – but that’s normal for my experience so far and I wouldn’t ask for it any other way. Here’s the quick version of what’s been going on since the last blog: the first group of new student missionaries (SMs) arrived, the Lilas and I moved houses (we’re in the big house now, yay!), a few of us visited Ebenezer (another Adventist boarding school in Bolivia except only for high school students), my Bolivian volunteer friends went home, Minha (my partner house parent) finished her time and went back to the US, the rest of this year’s SMs arrived, I wrote the August newsletter for Familia Feliz, I have a new partner house parent (shoutout to Carlie – she’s is doing a remarkable job), and we started potty training the two year old. That’s what’s been going on this last month, and we’ll see what this next month has in store!

It was 8am, my girls had just left for school, and I was sitting in my room staring at my screaming two-year-old. I was just about ready to cry. I had been without a partner parent in the house for a few days and I didn’t know what to do anymore, nothing I did seemed to help him. So I just sat and stared and held back tears. Then, Teacher Dara walked in. She has been at Familia Feliz for much longer than I, and she took care of my two-year-old before he moved to my house. He saw her and immediately stopped crying. I watched her pick him up and he fell asleep in her arms. At first, I was angry and felt like a failure. Why couldn’t I help him? Why was he screaming with me, but felt at peace with her? Why can’t I seem to do anything right? Then something told me to look at this differently. I don’t know why she came to my house that day, but this help with the baby is exactly what I needed. I could look at this and be angry, or I could look at this as an opportunity to learn from Teacher Dara. I will never forget the conversation we had that day. I’ll be honest, I didn’t understand everything that she said because she speaks Spanish, but it still meant so much to me. Teacher Dara explained to me that for a good while, this baby was hard for her too. She asked me how I was doing. I told her I was good. Why I seem to think people will believe that every time, I may never know. She saw right through that. “Really Emilie, you have 17 girls, a two-year-old, you’re on your own, and you’re good?” That’s when the tears came streaming down my face. I was not good, obviously. Teacher Dara understood the frustration and exhaustion that I was experiencing. She told me, “Esto es difícil, pero no es imposible. Dios está contigo.” Translation: “This is hard, but it’s not impossible. God is with you.” For some reason I had this idea in my head that because she was a Bolivian volunteer, this was never difficult for her. I look up to her and she is so good at what she does, but it hit me like a truck the realization that I’m not the only one who finds this difficult.

There was a period of about four days between Minha leaving and the rest of the SMs arriving where I was completely on my own in the Lilas. I remember sitting at the edge of the bed thinking: “this really is the hardest thing I have ever done.” I was on the verge of tears when one of my older girls, Lorelay, came in. She sat down next to me and asked me what happened. I can’t lie to my kids, so this is what I told her: “I’m tired, the house is a mess, and Minha isn’t here.” After nodding and sitting in silence for a few second, she responded “You know Teacher, Yamile thinks you’re really pretty.” No tears, only smiles. Sometimes, when someone is struggling, there isn’t a “right” thing to say. They just need to know they’re loved. I might have been exaggerating a little bit about that being the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but when you’re in the middle of something difficult, it really does not seem like an exaggeration. I didn’t need someone to tell me I’m pretty to make everything better. I needed to know that despite the chaos, lack of sleep, and language barrier, I am seen. The fact that Lorelay came and sat with me for even a few minutes and nothing profound was said, I realized that she saw me, and she cares.

You will find your calling. You will find your mission. And I promise you it will not always be easy. When you find that thing that you want to pour your whole heart into, it will, at times, break your heart. God will lead you where you need to be and He will lead you into a calling that you care about so much that it will hurt when things aren’t perfect. At some point in life you will have the same thought I did: “this really is the hardest thing I have ever done.” Here’s the thing. “Esto es difícil, pero no es imposible. Dios está contigo.”

“God is working for you. Heaven is holding conversations about you. Angels have been assigned to you. It’s going to be alright. Have faith.”

Dear Lord

You know the plan and you know where you are leading us. You know all things, and you love every one of us. I pray for the reader and where they will find themselves in the future. I pray that when they are in a place when they feel angry and frustrated, they remember that with you, this is not impossible, and that you are with them always. Help us be more like you.

Amen.